The Joker is Making Plans
by dragonrider847
Summary: The Joker is making plans, and I've been stuck in an abandoned house with him for days whilst he does so. A bit twisted, and probably quite nonsensical. This is my first story, so any thoughts would be appreciated :)


'They're not due for another two days.'

I looked over from the slat in the rotting shutter – he was sitting on the chair that he'd found in the basement and was poring over a large sheet of tattered paper that was spread across the table.

'Do we have any supplies left?' I asked.

'No.'

His nature only ever permits him to give curt or riddled answers to questions. It really is a pain sometimes – it's probably how he tests the patience of his henchmen. Most of them end up dead.

I gave up watching for the dust rising from the beaten track and walked over to the table. Not having another chair, I leaned against it, turning my back towards the Joker as he worked.

'It's coming together - just a few minor…alterations regarding the 'backup schemes'. You know, if someone messes up'

I turned and peered at the 'map' he had drawn out. It consisted mainly of boxes joined by arrows, filled with and surrounded by his spidery scrawl. A small doodle of a bat occupied one corner of the paper, its wings dripping blood.

'When do you plan on leaving?'

'Tomorrow morning – the charges have already been rigged.'

Suddenly he slammed the pencil into the wooden surface and stood, folding the paper into quarters. He carefully slotted it into the pocket of his coat, which was draped over the back of the chair.

As he walked around the table towards me, I could hear the clink of metal in his pockets – the variety of spare knives that he carried in each one was impressive. His figure now blocked my view of the crumbling wall. You have to be careful with this man – he's definitely not one to throw your weight around with.

'Look at me.'

I turned up my chin, eyeing the white paint that had receded to the sides of his face. Only a smudge of black remained around each eye, and the red that had previously outlined his scars was now largely on the sleeves of his shirt.

'Are you sure you don't want to stay here? I can't guarantee you'll be safe at the base. I've told them that I want to keep you as you are, but at the end of the day, chaos doesn't work in everybody's favour.' He hooked his fingers through the bracelet on my wrist and licked his lips, awaiting a reply.

'I'm aware of that. But it'll be no safer here than there. There's nowhere to run here. That's why you chose it.'

'That's true. And you're not exactly the most skilled in self-defence, are you?' He smirked, and lifted my chin higher with the tip of his finger. 'How about a lesson or two?'

Cautiously, I held his gaze, knowing full well that he enjoyed a bit of 'friendly bloodshed'. I blinked and he moved away from me, dragging the chair towards the empty side of the room.

'Lesson one. Look lively.'

I stood to attention, and readied myself for whatever was about to come. He strode across the room, picking up a piece of wooden roof beam. After examining it for a moment, he hurled it at me. I stepped aside, caught it and held it like a bat. Advancing, I deflected the rock that was targeted for my chest and swiped at his knees. Swiftly, he jumped over the bat, and pulled my elbow up over my head. I twisted violently to avoid the elbow that he swung into my side, and landed a knee in his instead. He grunted and buckled my standing leg. I hit the floor hard. He turned around, roughly barred the door with the chair, and then flicked a knife from his left pocket.

'Lesson two. Man-on-man is a lot more efficient when you introduce a little surgery.'

I stood as quickly as my starving body would allow, and grappled with the knife that he had insisted I carry in my own pocket at all times. We circled, occasionally making a wild swing at one another. In a single movement, he jumped across the diameter of the circle and sliced upwards through my t-shirt. Acting on impulse, I grabbed his wrist and spun around him so that I had my blade at his neck. He swallowed and a trickle of blood seeped into his grey shirt collar. Without warning, he struck backwards and sliced at my thigh. I gasped with pain and released his neck, pressing on the wound with the palm of my hand.

'Lesson three. Never. Ever. Hesitate.'

I felt his arms around my waist as he secured my body against his. Closing my eyes, I knew that the sparring had ended – for now.

'Let me see.'

He examined my leg, frowning at the crusting blood that had accumulated on the edges of the frayed fabric of my shorts. Slowly, I dipped my finger in the fresh blood and drew it across the sides of his mouth. He rose to full height again and looked down at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

He gently moved me onto the table and retrieved a sterile sewing kit from the holdall under the window; for someone so crazy, he was actually quite organised. Next, he drew the chair from under the door handle and sat, spread legged, as he expertly sewed the inner layer of flesh and then the outer layer of skin back together. Part of being an evil genius was, of course, derived from a pretty spectacular general capability.

I opened my eyes when the pain of the needle had ceased, and slowly sat up. The light from the window was still blinding, despite the evening beginning to draw in. I watched the muscles in his back and shoulders ripple as he dug around in the holdall for something. I really could not explain the way I felt towards the man. Today's events probably summed up the extent of our sanity, which was admittedly fairly limited. After a while, he stood back up, cricked his back and glanced out the window. In his hands was a selection of pots. He came over and set them carefully in my hands. The way he drew my hair across my back said that he was sorry, although he never verbally spoke the words to anyone. I wondered if he ever had done.

I pushed him down into the chair and straddled his lap, cautiously to ensure that the chair wouldn't give way. I opened the lids of the pots and coated my fingers in the paint that sat at the bottom of the lightest one. Brushing his long hair away from his face, I began to cover his skin in white, stroke by stroke. Then followed the black around his eyes. He observed my grey eyes intently as I blended the pigment into his brown eyebrows. Even now, I still found myself disturbed by the darkness of his irises. To finish his guise, I renewed the red forbidding smile that accentuated his character, and spread the remaining product throughout his hair. As I worked, the thinning light streaming through the slats in the shutter illuminated the pale green that clung to his waves – it was a subtle look that hinted at a raw madness. Having replaced the lids on all of the containers, I draped my forearms across his shoulders and placed my lips on his forehead. He had his arms around my waist possessively and was now rubbing circles in the small of my back, his eyelids finally closed.

The man really is a joker.


End file.
